


Father Figures

by thephilosophersapprentice



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Family, Father Figures, Gen, Kinda, References to Depression, Smoking, the batfam is not good at talking about their problems, tim's not quite as bad as bruce is but that's a very wobbly distinction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: This was where a sixteen-year career in police work had gotten him. Surrogate father figure to teenaged vigilantes. (Tim needs someone to talk to, and Commissioner Gordon seems like the best person for that.)





	Father Figures

Jim opened the door to the roof and stared out over the city skyline. The Bat-Signal was silent and dark--no need for it tonight. It had been fairly quiet all day.

The sixth sense he’d acquired after years of working in Gotham told him that he was not alone. He turned around, expecting to see Batman; instead, he saw a smallish, caped figure, indistinct against the light from below, the cowl shaped without the bat’s signature ears. The vigilante stood, leaning on the parapet and staring out at the city, the attitude strangely vulnerable, in stark opposition to the confident, larger-than-life figures Jim was used to.

“You new to Gotham?” Gordon asked, pulling out his lighter.

“Not exactly, Commissioner,” the vigilante said. The voice was familiar, young--probably not the boy’s normal voice, but not gritty and menacing like Batman’s, either.

“You’re the previous Robin, aren’t you,” Jim guessed, his hand falling to his side.

The figure nodded. “Yeah.”

“What do you go by now?”

“‘Red Robin’ seems to have stuck,” the boy said.

“You didn’t pick it out?”

“No, it just sort of… happened.” The boy slumped slightly against the parapet.

“Any reason in particular you’re up on my roof?” Gordon asked, fishing in his pockets for cigarettes.

“Yes,” the boy said. “It’s, um… It’s kind of hard to put it into words.”

For the billionth time since taking on the role of commissioner, Gordon re-thought his role. He wasn’t here to liaise with vigilantes--at least, not officially. Still, the boy obviously needed to talk to someone. He was just a kid. Less of a kid than the scowling eleven-year-old currently running around as Robin, but still, a kid.

_ Must be the empty-nester syndrome _ , Jim groused to himself. Surrogate father figure to teenaged superheroes. That was where a sixteen-year career in police work had led him.

“You just need to talk to someone,” Jim said. The boy shrugged awkwardly.

“Yeah.”

“All right.” Jim shifted, leaning against the parapet a few feet from the kid and lighting a cigarette. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I came to make myself known,” the kid said. “I don’t know where to start… I don’t really want to talk to Batman. He and I… we kind of set out differently, crime-fighting. I didn’t really plan to become a superhero. It just sort of… happened.”

“You must be the most normal one out of the Bat-Clan, then,” Jim murmured, inhaling. The boy half-grimaced.

“Yeah.”

“But the current Batman… he was the first Robin, wasn’t he? And you can’t talk to him?”

“We’re too different,” Red Robin said, quietly. “He hasn’t exactly been helpful in the past. He tried, but… Things don’t  _ bother _ him like they do me. Actually, as far as personality goes, I’m much more like the original Batman, if he wasn’t so driven.”

“And you wouldn’t want to talk to him,” Jim said, “because you’re too alike.”

“And because of his dedication to the mission,” Red Robin said, looking down at the pavement four stories down.

Jim studied the people passing by below them, then glanced at the boy’s silhouetted face. “If you were hoping to receive a blessing from me, I can’t in good conscience give it,” he said. The boy huffed out a not-quite-laugh.

“I just… I think I may not be able to stop,” he said. “When I was Robin, I could have stopped any time. I tried, in fact. But then… things happened, and this--this was the only worthwhile thing I’ve ever done. Being Robin, it… defined me, like nothing else ever had. It gave me a purpose--I didn’t know how badly I needed that until I tried to stop.”

“And now you’re on the rooftop of the GCPD, looking for someone to listen,” Jim said. How was this his life, again?

The kid huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” Jim asked, concerned for a moment. He thought he saw the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of the young vigilante’s mouth.

“Well, if I’m not, right now, then I think I’m going to be,” Red Robin said.

“Good,” Jim said, expecting the vigilante to be gone when he turned around.

Instead, he heard, “Commissioner Gordon?”

“Yes?” Jim said, glancing back at the boy, who’d drawn himself up and was standing free, one foot up on the parapet.

“Thanks.”

The boy reached out, firing a grappling hook into a building opposite, and leaped. Gordon watched the slim figure with its trailing cape until it was lost in the alternating shadow and light of the Old City promenade.


End file.
